


What It Looks Like

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e22 Two Cathedrals, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-08
Updated: 2004-12-08
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The President and CJ have a long-overdue heart-to-heart.





	What It Looks Like

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**What It Looks Like**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** Jed, Abbey, CJ  
**Pairing(s):** Jed/Abbey  
**Category(s):** General/Post-Ep  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** Like anyone would believe me if I laid claim to these characters myself. Yes, I am playing with someone else’s toys. And no, I am not seeking any profit in the process - that would take all the fun out of it.  
**Summary:** The President and C.J. have a long-overdue heart-to-heart.  
**Spoiler:** Post _Two Cathedrals_.  


*****

"The grand jury selection process is complete. Odds are they’ll start issuing subpoenas this week."

There was a universally silent groan in the Oval Office. Every one of the six people present could just envision what lay ahead of them all.

"Do me one favor, Leo," Josh piped up - far too lightly for the prevalent mood, though typical for his sense of humor. "Tell me Lillienfield is not on the panel."

As expected, he did garner a few smiles despite the ominous potential behind an affirmative response.

Leo did not grin. But he didn’t frown, either, as he consulted his report again. "That nightmare we don’t need - and it seems for once Someone’s willing to smile on us a bit. His name is nowhere in sight."

"Don’t believe it for a moment," Toby growled, literally. "He knows that after the rehab records charges he doesn’t dare take a public stand against us now; he’d risk tainting the whole inquiry. But you can bet he’ll be behind the scenes, making all the waves he can."

"No bet there," Sam agreed, slumped dejectedly in his seat on one of the couches. Beside him, CJ nodded in dull endorsement.

Throughout this unpleasant discussion all five were making a concerted effort not to look at their boss and, incidentally, their Chief Executive, as though doing so would be tantamount to an accusation that everything was his fault. Which, in frank truthfulness, it was… but none wanted to remind him of that fact quite so blatantly.

The Man himself did not contribute. Clearly he saw the wisdom of letting his Chief of Staff handle the strategy. He stood behind that carved oak desk, as silent and stiff as though he stood on the witness stand this very moment… or in the prisoner’s dock.

No verbal statement could capture the situation any more vividly. This might be his office - the _Oval_ Office, no less - but it really wasn’t his place to take part in this war council. Not yet. He was the defendant… relying utterly upon the actions of the few people gathered before him.

Even Leo kept his eyes averted from his leader - who also happened to be his oldest friend. Planning a desperate defense against what seemed more and more like a hopeless battle was rather disheartening. "In all likelihood, most of us will face more than one round of testimony. If the prosecution feels that certain facts don’t mesh… or even if they do."

Not even Josh tried to joke any longer. This sounded _far_ too much like a bunch of criminals trying to get their stories straight so that they could safely alibi each other.

"I know what you’re all thinking, and you can forget it right now."

Five heads turned. Their Commander-in-Chief still hadn’t moved, as though his ornate and historic desk could provide a physical shield against the legal charges he faced. However, something in his posture and expression had changed. Suddenly he looked less like the defendant, and more like the judge.

"Let’s not lie to ourselves. Your testimonies are going to greatly influence how the threat - or reality - of impeachment goes." He met each pair of eyes sternly. None of them turned away this time, as though mesmerized by the power of his gaze.

"I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again, so that there’s no possible mistake. There will be _no falsehood_ on the stand. There will be no attempt by any of you to spare me punishment, whether by stretching the truth, by hiding it, or by avoiding it. Everyone will treat the courts of this country with the respect and honesty they deserve." Now that was an executive command.

These five knew their leader personally. The enjoyed his confidence and merited his trust. In turn he listened to their opinions and treasured their expertise. With them he almost never exercised the genuine authority of his high office. He never had to. But at this moment Jed Bartlet could not have looked or sounded more presidential. 

Then some of his resolve bled away. Not that he shrank into the image of a prisoner on Death Row, but a weary endurance finally surfaced that none of them had seen in this man before. "Besides, you have your own careers to think about. I don’t want to take anybody else down with me."

Strangely, no one burst out in vociferous fealty and defiance. The President had expected that sort of thing, even if he didn’t intend to permit it. Instead, what he saw were shared glances of remembrance… and a ripple of - amusement?

Leo smiled first, slightly, but Josh and Sam both followed his lead. Toby didn’t, no surprise there. Neither did CJ; she just looked down at the floor.

Bartlet’s brows descended even further. "Well, I’m gratified that an edict of mine offers so much entertainment."

"Sorry, sir." Josh tried to force down his grin, and didn’t quite succeed.

Sam fared only slightly better. "We can’t help remembering a similar speech a couple of years ago, when someone else’s medical records were released."

"I sure hope you listen more now than you listened to me back then," Leo said somberly, reddening just a bit at the painful memories of the public and personal storm he had weathered when Lillianfield got hold of those supposedly confidential drug rehabilitation documents. And reddening, too, at the warm recollection of loyalty demonstrated by certain colleagues who had charged to their Chief of Staff’s aid despite his express orders.

The President nodded slowly; he hadn’t been present for that argument back then, but didn’t need any further explanation to extrapolate what had happened. "You’d _better_. At least Leo was spared the constitutional implications. We’re not playing with gunpowder this time - these are nuclear weapons. Each of you still has a future in this town, and you’re all way too good at your jobs to throw that future away now."

Silence.

As immobile as the pillars right outside, Toby finally spoke. Each word was quiet, precise and deliberate. "Do you expect that to be high on our list of concerns right now?"

The silence this time rang with wholehearted consensus.

Bartlet sighed, his features shifting briefly to a rare look of genuine fondness. "Not really. I know you better than you may think I do. Which is why I’m _telling_ you to make it a concern." Again he donned the mantle of supreme political power, so that his final ruling could not be denied. "No one is to perjure themselves, is that clear? The truth is the only protection I need, or want. If that isn’t enough…"

He shrugged. No one else tried to finish the obvious sentence either.

In that pause, the President looked more closely at the lone staff member who had not yet weighed in at all. CJ sat quietly, silent and subdued, studying the intricately stitched seal in the carpet, and perhaps considering all that it was supposed to represent.

"We understand, Mr. President." Leo’s voice broke into his concerned thoughts. He shot a hard glare at the others to make certain of that. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes," their boss replied firmly. "We will all continue to do our very best for the nation. We’re not licked yet, and the _last_ thing we’re going to do is lick _ourselves_. We’re not stopping or even slowing down on the _real_ issues. However many days we may have left here, let’s make every single one of them count."

A strong chorus of "Yes, sir" endorsed this reassuring stand. The staff rose together, spines straightening and eyes brightening, and headed out to resume the battle.

"CJ."

Leading this exodus, the Press Secretary braked before she quite reached the threshold. Her three comrades streamed past, and the door closed. Sealing them out - and her in.

For a long moment, she did not turn. Not until Leo’s office door had shut firmly as well, eliminating all witnesses.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

Bartlet noted that her vision met his for only a moment before sliding uncomfortably past his shoulder. Not for the first time in recent memory, either.

"I’ve been meaning to tell you something. Have a seat." He endeavored to sound pleasant without overdoing it. In politics, too effusive an invitation usually prologued serious trouble. There was quite enough tension present already.

Slowly, CJ complied. Exhibiting a peculiar reluctance, she walked the length of this famous office and seated herself in the same spot on the same sofa from which she’d observed the briefing. Again, glancing in any direction except his.

The President watched her every move, his own expression carefully guarded. Once she was settled, he moved around his desk and selected the closer of the two armchairs.

No doubt she had guessed the topic about to rise. She took a deep breath and made a sincere effort to relax, as though this were just another of their frequent one-on-one chats about the press… but still could not prevent her gaze from dropping. By every indication, she expected to be seriously bawled out for something she’d done - or didn’t do.

Her leader had no such dressing-down in mind. Rather, he was about to apologize for something he himself both did _and_ didn’t do.

Neither of them could maintain the pretense of casual discussion, a privilege they’d enjoyed for almost all of their parallel careers in this White House. She kept her hands formally folded and her eyes respectfully downcast. He rested his elbows on the armrests, laced his fingers, and studied this woman on whom he relied so heavily, and for whom he cared so dearly. Hesitated, and then leaned forward a fraction. 

"You know… ever since Leo told you, I think I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve looked me in the eye for more than ten seconds at a stretch."

The reference was inescapable: that crushing moment when the White House senior staff members finally learned about the serious medical condition their President had hidden for so long - just before he informed the American public. One by one, Toby, Josh, CJ and Sam had been pulled aside for a private revelation. The point was that, while Bartlet spoke to the three men personally, he delegated Leo to inform his Press Secretary instead. A somewhat crucial distinction.

She turned to meet that probing blue gaze, and he could see the hurt in her own - then she proved him right again by glancing away after only a pair of heartbeats.

He sighed. "CJ, I’m sorry."

Two words, often said, and often far too casually at that. How could they hope to convey the regret he felt? Could she possibly tell how much he wanted to atone for her cruel, double-barreled disillusionment?

She shrugged, clearly trying to sound normal and unconcerned. "I’m not holding a grudge, sir. It isn’t important." After all, her posture declared, what’s done is done. She hadn’t been left completely in the dark, as had happened more than once in the past. She hadn’t even been the _last_ to know, also not an unheard-of occurrence. Getting upset over the minor detail of just _who_ broke the news did seem petty and unprofessional by comparison.

The President grunted, not fooled by this attempt to hide her genuine feelings. "Abbey doesn’t agree with you. Not about the importance, anyway. She really tore a strip off of me for bringing you on board while she wasn’t here."

"She told me, sir." CJ closed her eyes, no doubt at her own recollections. She did not project any personal satisfaction that _someone_ had finally taken her boss to task for such a flawed judgment call - just a resigned acceptance that it could hardly matter anymore.

"She told _me_ , too."

This time their eyes locked.

"CJ, I swear to you that neither Abbey nor I had realized that you saw the syringe that day in Kansas." Bartlet put every bit of earnestness possible into his voice.

She rubbed one hand across her forehead, conveniently breaking the visual bond. Again. "Well, _I_ never say anything about it, so why should you have assumed otherwise? It could’ve been any number of harmless things. It might not have even _been_ a syringe. That was what I kept telling myself…"

Her voice trailed off, and in it he heard every note of deliberate self-delusion that a person could feel. She hadn’t been absolutely sure. She hadn’t _wanted_ to be sure.

"You know, the truly astonishing thing is, even after that close call, I honestly never processed the simple fact that I’ve been asking you to lie about my health ever since." He shook his head in bemusement. It was incredible how blind people could be when it suited them. "My entire family has been in one form of denial or another for eight solid years. Truth is, thanks to those injections, my health has stayed pretty damned stable."

"What about that spell right here, a year and a half ago?" CJ asked, with deceptive softness in her tone and a new bright point in her eyes.

Now it was the President who had to look away. To many people her tone might have seemed downright impudent when aimed at the nation’s Commander-in-Chief - but he knew he deserved nothing less. "Yeah. I don’t have much excuse there, huh? Even though it _was_ the flu, even though I’ve had flu shots before, even though there was no harm done in the end. Hell, even Leo didn’t know before then."

Silence descended again, this one even more tension-charged, until he couldn’t bear it another second.

"I’ve always cherished the trust other people have had in me. I never thought I could be pushed into _anything_ that would jeopardize that trust." Bartlet fell to studying the carpet seal as well. "But a series of small, well-intentioned steps can lead you down the wrong path just as surely as a deliberate, headlong sprint."

CJ shifted in place. "I’ll be frank, sir. I do feel lied to. But then again, I’ve been lying to myself all this time as well. Telling myself that you really were okay, that there wasn’t anything else I actually needed to know." She tried very hard to hold his gaze now. "I also understand your wish for privacy… at least, in an abstract fashion."

He counted down absently in his head; she faltered and glanced aside just before the clock expired. Ten seconds could seem so disproportionately long in moments like this. Plainly that direct and personal contact was as difficult for her as the silence was for him.

Perhaps a change of subject would help the rebuilding process. Besides, the President had another admission of guilt to make, one that also reflected on the blight of compromised trust.

"There’s something else that needs an apology: my not warning you in advance that I’d decided to take the re-election question directly at the press conference. And after you went the extra distance to ease me into it, too."

CJ’s shoulders slumped even lower if that were possible. "Nothing new about plans of mine going out the window around here."

"That’s not what I wanted to imply, CJ, either then or now. I wasn’t trying to dismiss you in any fashion at all. I could tell that _you_ could tell how I was feeling beforehand." Bartlet paused, and sure enough she filled in the blank.

"Defeated." Her voice matched the deadness he so well remembered hovering over his head and permeating his soul for those hours when he believed it himself. "In a way none of us ever saw before."

"You could say that." The sympathy and the lost hopes she’d displayed every time she looked at him that day - she and everyone else who’d known his "final" decision - had been almost more than he could endure. "And I really appreciated your thoughtfulness. If I’d stuck to the original plan, that medical question would’ve been a welcome buffer."

"But you didn’t." The merest hint of a smile finally tugged at CJ’s mouth. The President found himself reflecting it back automatically. His staff were truly wonderful people. Despite all the legal horrors directly ahead, they preferred to fight it out with him rather than flee.

Both shadow smiles faded fast. The battle would still be long and hard.

"I just -" He cast around this historic chamber, scrounging for inspiration… to no avail. Adequate words wouldn’t come. "I can’t express it. But until I took that question I hadn’t told _anyone_."

He paused, and glanced to his right, remembering vividly who had changed his mind. He could almost see straight through the closed door, to a certain desk beyond. An undeniably _empty_ desk. Every time he passed it, he was shocked and grief-stricken anew to remember that its long-time, cherished occupant would never sit there again.

The President shook off his haunting thoughts. "So, I figured there was no point in beating around the bush any longer. The sooner we got that issue out of the way, the sooner we could get on with the important things."

He looked even more searchingly at his Press Secretary, wishing he could interpret her averted features. "Seriously… it never occurred to me what that must’ve looked like to you. As though your best efforts to help me just didn’t matter."

CJ did not agree with him aloud, but neither did she deny it. "Well, no one will say you didn’t achieve your goal: you sure riveted everybody’s attention. And the medical discussion provided a good follow-up, even a distraction of sorts, and let you end on a positive note."

She didn’t sound very positive herself right now…

"Yeah, that was a big help - and you know I couldn’t have handled it anywhere near as well without your foresight." Bartlet waited, but she didn’t thank him for the compliment. She must have grown tired of all these attempts at setting things right _after_ the fact.

He slogged on. It was time CJ knew about yet another major favor in this complex equation. "I know I surprised a lot of people. Whether for better or for worse is yet to be seen." He paused carefully here. "Especially in _one_ aspect."

As planned, that emphasis recaptured her undivided attention.

"CJ, you know that there’s been some… tension between Abbey and me of late."

She just nodded, a simple motion that spoke volumes. The entire White House had noticed as well; for three full months now, people literally fled when the First Couple got into the same room. The touching romantic chemistry between them that used to warm just about every staff member’s heart had chilled into icy daggers.

"Let me tell you why." The President scrubbed a hand over his face. Here was yet another thing he’d handled poorly. Was there anything in recent memory that he’d done _right?_ "Before I agreed to try for the party nomination, Abbey and I made a deal. Because of my…" Damn, he still had trouble saying it sometimes. You’d think by now he would have truly accepted things… "Health."

Leo had grasped the point, and all its ramifications, within two breaths. CJ didn’t have the same political experience or anything like the personal history, and yet her eyes widened almost at once in comprehension. For the first time today her leader had definitely startled her.

"You promised her you wouldn’t seek a second term."

Now he _really_ wanted to look away from the roiling emotions on her face. But it was time, and past time, that he stood his ground and faced the music. No matter how cacophonic it became. "Yes."

"And you didn’t tell us before the last State of the Union!" _That_ sounded suspiciously like anger. "What did you _expect_ Toby and Sam to write about, if not re-election?"

Unable to sit still any longer, Bartlet rose. Pacing helped wrestle his thoughts into somewhat more coherent form. It also provided extra distance from the accuser, if not from the actual accusation. He stabbed hands into pockets and hunched shoulders, trying to justify past actions more to himself even than to his listener. "I just… kept putting it off. You guys love your jobs so much. And I really love mine, even with all the bumps in the road. The whole staff had geared up something beautiful for a new campaign. It was terrific to watch, to see how much you all believed in me. I hated the very thought of finally admitting that it was a total waste of time. I didn’t want to ruin that anticipation and optimism, to shatter that dream - for all of us." He stopped on a sunspot near the windows and stared into the golden purity beyond. "And then… _this_ thing blew up."

CJ blinked, her astonishment blooming even more as she made the next connection without being told. "Which gives us a completely different reason to consider aborting the campaign. You wouldn’t even have to mention the _first_ one." Her features shifted yet again, graphically. "And then you stood in front of the whole press corps, and told them…" She shook her head slowly. "No wonder Abbey’s ticked."

This indicated clearly how much these new revelations had upset CJ’s equilibrium; as a rule none of the staff referred to the First Lady by her given name. As with their President, it just wasn’t correct to use anything but proper titles, even in the third person. 

The President nodded in unconditional agreement. "Yep. This is the only time I’ve ever made such a bargain with my wife, and I’ve flown right in the face of it." He waited a few seconds, until the worst of the glaze left his Press Secretary’s eyes. "Go ahead and say it, CJ: obviously my word isn’t worth much around here."

She turned back to him. "I don’t intend to say anything of the sort, sir."

He wondered whether she genuinely didn’t believe his word _was_ worth so little, or whether she just didn’t want to insult her Chief Executive any further today. Her expression offered no clues there.

CJ looked down again, visibly working through her well-jumbled thoughts. "I will say that I can see both sides of the coin. This is a once-in-a-lifetime job, and you’re _good_ at it. You’ll never have another chance like this one, either. But on the other hand… Besides, not everyone’s health can have such far-reaching consequences. And it’s the most natural thing for your wife to worry about you."

Then she straightened. "I really am sorry - for both of you, and for your whole family. No one should have to deal with this. _Any_ of this."

At last, Bartlet managed a decent grin. It felt decidedly ironic that she wanted to apologize to _him_. "Thanks. Unfortunately, none of us have any choice in the matter. We’re just going to have to get through it… somehow. Hopefully, without losing our sanity in the process. It’s not impossible that we’ll lose just about everything else."

She considered the massive truth behind that statement. Slowly, she settled deeper into her seat and let her head fall back until she was staring at the ceiling. The ornate plaster ceiling, with that perfect rendition of the Presidential Seal right in its center.

"I remember reading a little blurb once. _Some people grin and bear it. Others smile and change it._ "

His eyebrows rose, both in evaluation and in endorsement. "That’s just the kind of approach we need." 

In the next period of quiet between them, the President’s mind wandered down a different track. Excepting Leo - and Mrs. Landingham - he had known none of these hard-working people before he decided to pursue the Democratic nomination. After that, it was like a chain reaction. Leo brought in Toby and Josh. Toby brought CJ; Josh brought Sam. Then Leo brought Margaret, Mrs. Landingham brought Nancy, and Josh brought Donna. Jed Bartlet had won elections before, sure… in fact, every election he’d ever attempted. But, like all candidates, he’d had a campaign team backing his play and planning his moves. And without _this_ extraordinary team he would have finally tackled more than he could handle. For once he’d been scared to death by his own audacity. Running in his small, ancestral home state did not compare at all to the whole _country_. When he had waffled and hesitated and second-guessed himself, these people supported, encouraged and downright cajoled him; when he finally conquered that awful uncertainty and hit his stride, they followed without any hesitation. Once he learned to trust them, and they learned to believe in him, then everything fell into place as thought it was always meant to be this way. Then he _really_ knew that they could win - together. Perhaps there had been some God-given destiny in it after all.

No one can possibly run the White House alone, yet history rarely remembers the people behind the scenes, the people who work even harder and for far less glory. The President might be the man in the public spotlight and in the history books… but he owed his chance to stand on this carpet to this dynamic political unit, these few gifted people he’d come to rely upon, and to love.

And now… even as he’d been lifted by their energy, and had risen on the winds of their talent, and had brought them with him to the highest office in the world… now he might very well drag them straight back down as this lofty pedestal threatened to fall.

But it hadn’t fallen _yet_. And it wouldn’t merely be _allowed_ to fall - others would have to cut it down by force. And only after one hell of a fight.

Bartlet came back to the present moment. His Press Secretary kept her gaze politely aimed at the wall rather than at her leader in his contemplation. She looked more than a little uncomfortable at this continuing silence, yet didn’t dare interrupt him.

"CJ." He spoke softly, not wanting to make her jump. She turned, flushing slightly, no doubt wondering how long she’d been unaware of his attention. "I know what kind of attacks you’re going to face. I want you to know right here and now that I’m going to do everything I can to make this nightmare easier for you."

She attempted a smile of gratitude, but it came out more like a grimace. "Thank you, sir, but we both know there’s not much point in trying. I’m going to catch the brunt, come what may. I’m the one who’s stood up time after time and told the world that you’re just fine. For sure I’ll be raked over hardest. Besides, you all have to look out for yourselves."

She sounded beaten right now, and terribly alone. And still she didn’t really look at him.

For a moment the President just stood there, brow furrowed in no small astonishment. Then he crossed the carpet seal and took a seat on the couch beside her.

That motion alone drew CJ’s attention around. The almost pained expression on her leader’s famous face anchored it.

"I can hardly believe I just heard you say that. CJ, tell me you don’t honestly think so little of us. You figure we’re going to just abandon you to face this on your own? You’re _expecting_ us to cover our tails at your expense?"

Surprise warred with something disturbingly close to despair in her gaze. "Mr. President, I’m not under any illusions as to how our political system works. You’ve got the kind of scapegoat that past administrations have dreamed about." Her voice remained flat and detached, as if this impending fall of the executioner’s ax was about to happen to someone else - someone she didn’t even know. "It’d be easy, and logical, for all of you to seize such an obvious opening. Matter of survival." She looked away. "Most politicians in this city - male and female both - will expect you all to do just that."

Bartlet exhaled sharply. "All right, I want to know just how long you’ve entertained the suspicion that you’re the first person we plan to throw over the side of this sinking ship of state." He tipped his head for a better view, but failed to catch her eye this time. "Since Leo pulled you aside?" She didn’t move. "Since you started working for me?"

Now she flinched, just a fraction.

He did as well. "Aw, man. CJ -"

Silence fell with an almost audible thud. Her own exhalation broke it. "That’s the way the world operates. We have to play by its rules."

"Well, it’s not how _I_ operate!" The President’s sudden vehemence brought her back around. " _It never was._ That rule book needs major revamping - and so does our management style around here, apparently. You’re one of the family, CJ. You always have been. With the full rank and privileges thereto." His voice was solid iron. "You take that idea of your supposed lesser status in this White House and purge it from your system for good. I don’t desert my people."

"Sir -"

"No buts." That executive glower pinned her in place. "God, to think this has been festering all along." It defied belief how one can take treasures for granted. "Well, CJ, just to make you feel better, your gender has less to do with this than you may realize. Leo has already approached me with some pretty similar thoughts on playing the fall guy."

The Press Secretary sat up at that. "Damn. He would, too."

Now Bartlet had to smile, if only from four decades of memories. "You betcha. I’ve heard the whole best-friend, staff-conspiracy, power-behind-the-throne sales pitch already." At this point, any comic relief was welcome. "We could write a satire about suicidal staff members competing for the honor of taking the blame."

She rolled her eyes, not amused by the irony.

His own amusement passed quickly. "Then, of course, there’s more than a little trouble brewing for Abbey as well."

This time CJ really looked horrified. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yeah." The President slumped in his spot beside her. "And not just in her medical capacity, I expect." The next two words came unbidden, slipping out from under anguished recollection before he knew it. "Caesar’s wife -"

His whole being came to a sharp halt. He lost count long ago of how many times he’d asked himself these same unanswerable questions. Did he really speak to Delores Landingham that evening of the natural and the political tempests - or was it merely imagined? Did he hallucinate in his confusion, his resignation and his grief? Was he just arguing with recollections and uncertainties, grasping for the kind of guidance she had always provided, striving to recapture her treasured no-nonsense advice in his mind? Or _did_ she somehow manage to convince the Almighty that her old boss deserved one final message, one last kick when he needed it most?

If anyone could pull off a miracle like that…

He looked again at the side door, almost expecting his late personal secretary to walk in, just like before…

Bartlet came back to himself, slowly… and discovered that CJ was studying him every bit as intently as he had watched her earlier.

"Sir?" she asked, her voice soft. Perhaps she guessed his thoughts. None of them liked to talk about this aching void in their circle, but neither could they deny its constant presence.

He turned away, trying to regain his composure. "I just… remember Mrs. Landingham saying that sort of thing the night she…"

He couldn’t finish.

He didn’t have to. Cautiously, yet with tender compassion, CJ placed her left hand on his right arm. There was always a line of propriety that one did not cross with one’s elected leader, no matter how comfortably you worked together. But over the last few minutes, probably for the first time since they met, these two people had moved beyond social levels. Sorrow has a way of reducing matters to the single most basic element: humanity.

"Don’t blame yourself."

"I’ve already blamed the drunk driver, the car manufacturer, the D.C. traffic laws, Congress and God," the President returned, his words harsh and bitter. He glared at Andrew Jackson’s portrait as if Old Hickory should share the recrimination. "It’s about time I started owing up to my mistakes instead of passing them off onto others. I hid my condition from her for all of those eight years. I asked her to come back here that evening. I waited one hour too long to admit the truth."

No one else could truly know what that single life had meant to him… and he was personally responsible for ending it…

Even as he gritted his teeth and drove the demon back into its cage, refusing to let his tears fall through sheer force of will, the hand on his arm tightened another ounce or two.

" _No one_ holds you responsible in any way, sir." CJ’s gentle words were underscored by their conviction. " _You_ shouldn’t, either."

Bartlet drew a deep, shaky breath. Turned his head to meet the sympathy - and, amazingly, the total absence of accusation - in her eyes.

Pain shared was pain lessened. Until this moment in time he had simply refused to talk about it: not his grief, not his guilt. The President had to be in control: technically, of the government; theoretically, of the nation. And even when failing those, he should bloody well be in control of himself.

Perhaps that had been part of the problem all along. Even a world leader can’t deny that he experiences human emotions. The unconditional support of a friend did ease the anguish.

A bit.

***

CJ watched her leader in silence. She couldn’t understand, really, just what he was going through. She had never held public office herself. She had never been in much of a commanding role, even on a far smaller scale. She had never harbored a secret capable of toppling a government. She had never blamed herself for the death of a friend.

Suddenly she _wanted_ to understand. Maybe if she did, she could somehow ease the burden for others. Especially the man seated beside her.

They were in his office: the single most intimidating office in the nation, if not the world. But there was nothing particularly intimidating about Jed Bartlet right now. And CJ had seen him at his best. He could rage fire and brimstone even without the Presidency behind him. He could face down frightening political power and make staggering nation-level decisions with both conviction and compassion. He could also charm people faster than a televangelist, rival the wit of a world-class comic, and earn the respect of millions with his determination and sincerity. She’d stood by him through a lot of those moments, too, and never regretted doing so.

She had no idea how to deal with this despondency, in a person globally acknowledged to be the most powerful man in the world.

Certainly she did not want to make him feel even worse. However, they could both benefit from a change of subject anyway.

"May I ask a question?"

From the flash of relief in his unusually-dark vision, she’d guessed right. Almost anything would be preferable to this self-torment. The office settled back into place like a mantle, and it was the President of the United States who turned to her. "Of course."

"Why did you have Leo tell me?" In the sudden new silence CJ swallowed uneasily, but she couldn’t back down now. "You told the guys yourself. You looked them in the face and gave them the hard truth. Why didn’t you grant me that same courtesy?"

It sounded more accusing than she’d wished. Not only that, but it didn’t sound professional. Seriously, what difference could it make? Still, even her boss couldn’t deny that she had a right to know.

His gaze fell away. The executive mask, just a moment ago so firmly back in place, slipped again. "Because I couldn’t."

"Because I’m the emotional one?" Well, that attempt to take the sting out of her request fell rather short of the mark. No one actually referred to CJ as "the Iron Lady," not even behind her back - not if they wanted to live to see the next sunrise. However, it was an established fact that in a crisis the White House Press Secretary could be counted on as the very last person to lose her self-control. Bartlet had not passed down the unenviable task because he feared an outbreak of feminine emotions. So why?

One corner of his mouth twitched, caught between rueful agreement and… something else she couldn’t quite identify.

"Because, for the past two years or so, I haven’t had three daughters." He turned his head now, to look her full in the face. "I’ve had _four_."

Rarely had CJ Cregg ever been deprived of the power of speech, but this did it in spades. She felt her lips part at the unadorned simplicity of that statement.

Curiously, over the past few minutes their conversational modes seemed to have been reversed. Now he couldn’t hold _her_ eye long enough.

"CJ, I - just couldn’t bear to personally observe your pain. I had to sit down with my daughters before, and watch them grieve for me while I’m still alive. I’d already witnessed the sense of betrayal felt by Leo, Toby and Josh, and I knew it’d be no different with Sam. That time I took the cowardly way out." He paused, struck by this self-evaluation. "The same as I’ve done ever since I was diagnosed: deliberately not face the harsh truth every chance I got."

He forced himself to look back, discovered that her own vision hadn’t wavered at all, and glanced aside again.

"I actually did believe it’d be better for both of us, but… yeah, I was thinking more of myself. Since I’m the patient, I guess I’ve gotten used to doing that. I understood far too late that it was even harder on you as a result." Another pause, as his visage and his tone hardened together. "That attitude has ended." And now the President turned to face her squarely, in essence taking a vow.

An admirable decision… though quite possibly not in time to save his career.

CJ couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed any longer. After Toby’s cryptic description of his own interview, Josh’s brief outline, and Sam’s awkward hedging, she should probably be glad to have been spared a similar scene. Leo’s considerate yet straightforward approach had made internalizing, even impersonalizing, the shock at least a little easier.

After a few more heartbeats of silently processing these thoughts, it suddenly occurred to her that, as usual, her well-schooled features were giving Bartlet no reliable clue as to the feelings behind. All at once he seemed compelled to break the spell, to rationalize even more.

"CJ, I’m going to tell you a bit about some of the people in my life. People who have defined what I am."

Where that desire came from she could only surmise. This side of her Chief Executive was decidedly foreign, to her and almost everyone else as well. Perhaps, having overcome his natural reticence once already with her, he had yet to reinstate it. Certainly the two of them had never had such a private conversation before. She watched as he leaned forward, rested elbows on knees and peered into another dimension.

"There was my mother, of course. She died when I was young, but not before she instilled in me the foundation of my faith. There are my daughters, and my granddaughter. I can’t begin to convey how precious they are to me. And I love my wife above all else." Despite the sparks flaring between them of late, he still said that with total conviction.

"I knew Mrs. Landingham even longer than I’ve known Abbey - or Leo, either. She was like the big sister I really needed in my youth. I never saw her flustered or at a loss. Even this office couldn’t intimidate her."

CJ smothered a bittersweet smile. That helped explain how, of all the White House staff, the President’s personal secretary had commanded the highest respect, bar none. If even The Man deferred to her, no one else dared press their luck. That quiet refusal to take any Bartlet sass would have seemed positively imprudent coming from any other employee, and yet she got away with it every time. CJ finally caught a priceless glimpse, however belated, of a friendship beyond family. No wonder their leader had been flattened by what to many outside this building seemed an inconsequential death.

Before she could comment on her revelation, the President went on. Now staring at the floor.

"And then there’s the woman who’s watched my back for the past three years and more, who’s stuck by me despite all my mistakes and failings."

He could not possibly be referring to anyone else and she had _no_ idea what to say. That he was ranking her with such august company in his eyes…!

She had entered his office with her professional barriers firmly in place. This brought them down in a _big_ cloud of dust.

On the day of the presidential election, something happened. A governorship was nothing to sneer at in itself - but then, there were another forty-nine of them. Besides, if anyone attempted to rank the individual states, New Hampshire wouldn’t likely be near the top of the list in _any_ criteria. Perhaps that fact helped forge the personal relationship Governor Bartlet and his staff built during the campaign; there was less intimidation all round from the word go. After the shakedown period, once they figured out how to work together, and discovered how _well_ they worked together, then the momentum just kept growing. Not only did they become a winning team, but they became, almost independently of that, _friends_.

The moment the federal results were announced, however, things changed. No longer was this man a promising though obscure politician, backed up by a few loyal followers despite the odds - he suddenly metamorphosed into their duly elected supreme commander. Every other republic in the world has a president, but even the Crown of England, with its one thousand years of history, acknowledges the _American_ President to be the leader of the free world. And so a barrier crashed down between Bartlet and his closest colleagues for all time.

Oh, he tried to alleviate it with the odd moment of recreation, and they made a genuine effort to relax at such times, but none of them could forget that now-unbridgeable gulf. The President himself was not entirely immune to this incredible prestige. He did on occasion stoop to bullying his staff, such as on chili night. It was in fun, of course, but still…

CJ _really_ looked at him now. She saw a man, with all his weaknesses and his strengths, with his talents and his curses - and almost wept for what might soon happen to him physically, never mind the political morass just ahead.

The silence must have finally surpassed his endurance. Bartlet made himself turn back… and what he saw brought a distinct pinch to his forehead.

"Please don’t look at me that way, CJ. I don’t want your pity or anyone else’s."

"Sorry." She wouldn’t want to be pitied, either. What must it be like, living day by day, just waiting for that time bomb to go off? The sympathy from other people, and their lack of trust in his abilities - remission or no - would be at least as horrid to endure. Suddenly CJ found it much easier to comprehend why he’d never mentioned this health detail before.

These thoughts linked up with others, and eventually brought her back full circle. She brushed her hair behind her ears, debating whether or not to speak up.

"Why _did_ you decide to run again?"

Few indeed among his staff had dared to ask before. It was enough that he resolved to not just walk away after all. The memory of him standing at the microphone, half-soaked by the tropical storm, hair in total disarray, facing the dreaded question head-on with that slight, self-confident smile that they had come to know and believe in, would linger for a very long time. Whatever unknown factor changed his mind at the eleventh hour, it had to have been powerful. They didn’t need to know precisely what; they blessed it anyway.

Human curiosity, though, possessed its own considerable strength.

So far the President had volunteered nothing at all about this, and CJ more than half-expected him to do the same now. It almost surprised her when he chose to reply instead.

"I finally came to realize another truth. It’d be one thing if I simply didn’t want to be here anymore. But if I was backing out merely because the odds were against me… if I didn’t think my job deserved to be fought for anymore…" Pause. Something unidentifiable flared in his blue eyes. "Well, that kind of decision doesn’t belong in this office."

Again Bartlet looked aside, at a specific closed door. For a moment, CJ thought he would go on. When he didn’t, she got the same old feeling of not having all the necessary details.

Her question this time was in purely professional tones. "Sir, is there something else you’re not telling me?"

Here, of course, was where he’d insist he wasn’t withholding information, as the guys had also done to her far too many times in the past…

"Actually, yes." Her leader flickered a grin at the wonder that shot across her features. She’d been fully prepared to be lied to, and he knew it. Then he exhaled heavily. "But I really don’t want to share it with anyone."

CJ recovered fast, from both surprises. Her instincts were right: it had been a deeply personal experience indeed. And it should stay that way. "Understood."

Then the President startled her anew, with a low chuckle. "Besides, I figure by now that if I claimed to have been visited by God Himself, someone would immediately spin that into a case of delusions and MS advancement. I wonder if anyone’s going to take me seriously again from here on in."

In silence, CJ raised her open palm to shoulder height - not as though asking a question, but as though taking her oath of allegiance right this moment.

He caught the motion, turned, and really smiled that time.

Then the old inner voice of pessimism whispered to her again. Would anyone take _her_ seriously? Because she was the Press Secretary and the public face of the administration, because she glimpsed that syringe years ago and never asked about it, because she was a woman… their gathering enemies would naturally consider her to be the best target for the prosecution.

No, on the contrary: they’d probably take her _too_ seriously. After they’d savaged her on the stand, they’d move along to the rest of the staff, and the Family as well… and then they’d come back for the kill.

"There has to be _some_ way…" she murmured, mostly to herself, in growing desperation.

Bartlet waved a hand, in the fashion of someone quite confident in success - or, conversely, of someone too tired to care anymore. "Don’t worry, CJ. We’ll weather this yet, one way or another."

But at what cost?

The President did not deserve to be cut down like this, or his staff either.

A cold, hard rock took shape in the pit of her stomach. Was it resolution, or disguised resignation? She couldn’t be sure. Either way, it gave her the will to make a final choice.

"I think I’ve found a workable solution, sir."

Bartlet positively jerked around. Whether in hope that she had in fact solved the whole thing, or in anticipatory dread of _how_ she proposed to solve it, CJ couldn’t tell.

Her voice was low, yet unhesitating, and her gaze didn’t waver an inch now. "Before, I was afraid I’d be going down when I didn’t want to. Well, I’ve decided that I want it after all. You have to save your Presidency, and the jobs of the men you rely on so heavily to run this country the right way."

Even though they’d faced off over this same topic mere minutes ago, her leader had been well and truly broadsided by the offer. And it took a lot to render this man speechless.

"Oh, like I rely on you any less -!"

"I’m serious."

The ice in those two words made him pause. For just one moment.

"I know you are. I don’t care. I’m _not_ feeding you to the wolves, whether you ask me to or not. Accept it."

CJ was actually starting to get angry. Couldn’t he _see_ the disaster ahead, and the way out that she had to offer?

"Look, I’m going to wind up on the dinner plate come what may. I might as well be the main course as just some hors d’eouvres! It’ll spare the rest of you a lot of pain."

The President was shaking his head even before she finished. "I thought we settled this before. Neither the staff nor I will use you for our -"

"And what about your wife?"

That might have been a bit below the belt. He winced.

CJ pressed her point relentlessly. "First Lady or not, she’s going to get a lot of flak for malpractice. People expect a higher degree of honesty from doctors than from politicians."

Silence dropped between them almost audibly. She was, after all, sitting _with_ a politician.

In embarrassment, CJ tried to regroup. "Uh, not that politicians _don’t_ have a high degree of honesty."

Now that sounded downright silly. Her boss’s spreading grin made her blush. "I mean -"

The President almost laughed aloud at seeing her so totally flustered. "All right, CJ, I’ll put you out of your misery. And out of your dilemma. There will be no martyrdoms handed out today in this office. Got it?"

Normally, the Chief Executive’s verdict was law. Personally, though, CJ doubted that he could do much more to her now, considering the public crucifixion she faced with or without his cooperation. In fact, deliberately provoking him might be an effective ploy towards her self-destructive goal. She clenched her teeth and dug in her heels.

"Bottom line, sir: I don’t want your wife to suffer any more than you do. Even leaving the guys out of this, I’m willing to dive into the bear pit if it will spare her name, her career… and anything _else_ of hers."

Things such as… what? Did this crisis in government have the power to threaten even the First Couple’s marriage? Or what if the President’s health broke completely under weeks of merciless strain? One senior staffer would be a small price to pay against _that_.

By now CJ had stoked her determination to full burn. No way would she allow either Bartlet to suffer without giving her all to prevent it. Their protests meant less than their joint well-being. She would not be swayed from her course, not even by an angry Commander-in-Chief. She braced for a lashing counterattack -

"CJ, are you sure you haven’t been training with the Secret Service behind my back?"

What she hadn’t been prepared for was humor. After all this time dealing with Jed Bartlet, she should know better.

"Because the last time I checked, it was never part of your job description to leap in front of the bullet." Satisfied that he’d disarmed her for the moment, the President continued, his eyes losing their twinkle but not their warmth. "I’m touched. I really am. Here I was about to offer _you_ an escape hatch. I confess I didn’t have _this_ kind of fight in mind."

She took a deep breath. "Well, sir, there’s a really easy way to end it. Just admit that you won’t find a better option."

"Tell me one thing first." He leaned back a bit and folded his arms. "Did it never occur to you to just resign?"

CJ gaped.

"Believe me, I don’t want anyone else for my Press Secretary. Ever. On the other hand, I’d understand perfectly if you feel you can’t go on after or even during all this."

"That would be _quitting._ I’m trying to accomplish the exact opposite!"

The President raised one eloquent eyebrow, silently asking for clarification.

"Resigning is the _last_ thing I want to do. It would only give more ammo to your enemies, it would send totally the wrong message to the nation, and it wouldn’t help me out anyway." She scrambled for solid ground. "I know I complain about it, but I like my job, too. And I still believe that you’re a great President. If I possibly can, I want to help you fight, help you better America. That’s why I signed on at the start."

He still said nothing, merely nodded.

CJ paused to think ahead some more, wondering if she were about to argue herself into a corner. It wouldn’t be the first time her leader had used that debate tactic, and he was good at it. She shifted gears.

"I’ll bet none of the guys will bail either, for the same reasons."

Slowly, Bartlet grinned. "And we have a winner." He sobered again, regarding her as gravely as he ever had before. "But I still haven’t heard a compelling reason as to why I should consider you any less than them."

"Because I’m trying to serve a higher purpose here!" CJ almost exploded in aggravation. Unable to sit still any longer, she leaped to her feet and rotated on axis, taking in the magnificent chamber around them. "Unless you think saving your administration doesn’t qualify!"

She checked for a moment, then remembered to whom she was speaking - or rather, shouting. "Sir."

Her boss straightened. "Oh, you’ve already accomplished that purpose. Believe me."

She had?

"CJ, you don’t have to prove your loyalty to me. I knew it from almost the very start. You also don’t have to prove your _value_ to me. All of us who work together here - we’re part of a single cohesive unit. Remove _any_ element and the whole system comes crashing down. I can’t do without Leo. I can’t do without Toby. Or Josh, or Sam. Or you."

The honest emotion behind those words was almost hypnotic. She just stood there and stared down at him.

"CJ, will you sit down, please? I get a crick in my neck even when we’re _both_ standing."

His joke about her height was purely automatic and not intended to break the delicate mood. She obeyed just as automatically, returning in silence to her seat on the couch.

Bartlet leaned closer, and gently placed his right hand over her left where she’d happened to plant it on the cushion between them.

This moment had to be truly vital for him to reach out so personally. The President was just not supposed to be demonstrative. She recalled the peculiar affinity that had compelled her to do much the same thing not long ago.

He went on, "Listen to me. I’m not about to let your own loyalty ruin you. I will do whatever I have to before I allow you to be railroaded anywhere… or before I let anyone _think_ that I and my staff would take such a cold-blooded approach in the first place."

Some subtle hint behind his words nibbled at her. CJ sieved through them - and stiffened.

"You’ll do no such thing."

Boy, she was really getting on her high horse, to deliver such a peremptory command to her Commander-in-Chief. He actually frowned a bit at being told on no uncertain terms what he was not to do. Even with the multitude of restrictions on executive political power in a constitutional government, that sort of thing did not happen very often at all.

CJ gathered her nerve. "You said earlier that the courts deserve respect. You’d better not plan on standing before _Congress_ and lying. I know you wouldn’t do that just to protect yourself. Don’t do it for _us_ , either. It’s one thing to conceal a private health issue by simply not mentioning it in a public forum… but this time you’ll be under oath. And exercising executive privileges right now would be almost as big a mistake."

Bartlet rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I’ve already had that lecture from Babish." He removed his hand from hers to massage what must have become a world-class headache. "Of all times when having a little national clout would actually be _useful_ …"

She groped for some reply that would lighten things up without sounding too facetious. "I’m sorry you have to come back down to the mortal world _this_ way. Sir."

He snorted. "Right - even with my health, I can still forget that detail sometimes."

The new quiet that settled about them was far less strained this time.

The President sighed. "Whatever happens next, there’s one thing I really want."

"Yes, sir?"

His brilliant blue gaze bored into her. "CJ, I want you to pursue your career in politics. Not only because you’re an inspiration to women. You’re just so talented. You don’t deserve to be brought down now. Not by me or anyone else." He looked down. "Perhaps the real thing will come along some day in the near future. If so, that person will need talent like yours."

CJ was almost too moved to trust her voice.

"I will, sir."

" _Good._ I intend to hold you to that. And the same for the guys."

He paused. "Besides, if our administration is going to get through the heavy waters ahead, we all have to hang on together." His use of " _our_ administration" raised her eyebrows. He spotted that, and _his_ eyebrow twitched in accompaniment. "This is the team that won a federal election against all odds. We should be able to handle a grand jury. We may not win… but the people will know they’ve seen a fight for the right, if nothing else."

Silence.

CJ’s next words bypassed her brain and came straight from her heart. "You _are_ the real thing, Mr. President."

His head tilted three degrees. She swallowed with difficulty.

"It’s just so horrible to think that… your condition may…" She couldn’t put the nightmare into words. It was probably better that way. "You’ve got to be the noblest and the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. It’s not _fair!_ "

She sounded like a little girl, railing at the universe. She felt like one, too.

Bartlet summoned a grin somehow. His eyes were very soft. "Remind me to remind God of that."

Both of them were blinking now, rapidly.

And then, to CJ’s wonder, the President opened his arms. "C’mere."

She hesitated \- never before had he made anything _like_ such an offer - but it didn’t occur to her to actually refuse. She inched closer and settled slowly into the circle of his embrace, more than a bit self-conscious at first… And then she felt something almost unknown for far too many weeks, or even longer: a delicious sensation of peace. It amazed her how easily she had moved past the unnerving image of the nation’s leader. She could not have been safer if she were in her own father’s arms.

On some other plane of existence, a door opened.

The faint sound barely penetrated her consciousness. Not repeated, not augmented by any other noise, it made no impression and was immediately forgotten.

When CJ left the Oval Office, her very soul felt lighter. No matter how black the night, the dawn will disperse it. She had faith in that. The President and his staff would get through this, and go on… together.

She opened the door into reception -

\- and came face to face with Abigail Bartlet.

***

The First Lady of the United States confronted the White House Press Secretary, her own features expressionless.

By contrast, CJ smiled at once. "Good morning, Dr. Bartlet." She must have heard the grapevine whisper about Abbey’s decision to reclaim her medical title publicly. The days of allowing her own considerable accomplishments to be eclipsed by her husband’s giant image were over.

"CJ. How are you?"

Now when a physician asks you that, even casually, you’re far less inclined to brush off the question as just a social custom. Then there was the official capacity of First Lady to consider… and finally the personal friendship these two women shared.

"I’ll be fine." CJ brushed slightly at her eyes, even as her shoulders squared and her smile broadened. "For the first time in a _long_ time, I’m confident that we _all_ will be."

Abbey had long since perfected the skill of reading people, especially without _appearing_ to read them. Right now, as she never had before with this woman and this friend, she was looking for something specific.

Guilt.

Uneasiness.

Fear.

And found none of them.

Having just come from a very private conference with the President, CJ stood before his wife without the slightest evidence of discomfort. Exactly as usual.

Of course, his wife had always known she never _would_ detect anything untoward.

"Uh, may I say something?" CJ’s smile had faded, and her volume lowered.

Abbey allowed herself only the briefest pause. "Of course."

"If you want to talk about anything…" CJ was clearly choosing her words with great care here "… I’m willing to listen."

Abbey guessed right off that Jed had told her about their deal. Even these two friends almost never shared such offers of confidence. Of course, CJ’s natural sensitivity and discretion would not make direct mention of it in comparatively public surroundings.

The First Lady masked her relief. "I just might take you up on that. We’ll see." She glanced past at the closed door to the Oval Office. "Is he alone?"

Now that was a deliberate smokescreen. She already knew the answer, but had no desire to explain _how_ she knew that.

And still CJ’s manner didn’t falter in the least. "Yes, ma’am." She paused for one more moment, in case there was something else, then nodded respectfully and took her leave. Her stride was purposeful, yet unhurried and noticeably at ease.

Abbey watched, until the tall feminine figure had passed beyond sight, before she faced the door to her husband’s office. Took a deep breath. And entered.

Seated behind his desk, already back to work, Jed glanced up at once.

"Abbey." His voice contained less joy than it used to, but remained warm and, indeed, hopeful. He rose, smiling just a bit.

"Jed." She came to within a few steps of the Presidential Seal, and stopped. Arms folded.

He rounded his desk. Took four tentative steps… and halted. When she did not reciprocate the advance, his face fell another notch. Still, he held his ground and didn’t crowd, looking across the ten endless feet that separated them.

"Good of you to come by."

She had no intention of making this easier for him. "I was in the neighborhood."

He tried to hide his painful disappointment at her cool retort, and did not entirely succeed. Despite the consistent difficulty that just about anyone else in Washington and beyond had when they tried to anticipate Jed Bartlet, his wife almost always knew what he was thinking.

"Well, I’m glad you could fit me into your itinerary." He sounded tired, too tired to inject real sarcasm into his words. After a moment he turned, went back to his desk and his paperwork, and pretended to resume working.

Over the past few months a wall had arisen between them, brick by unyielding brick. A wall such as neither had ever encountered before.

Abbey did not move. Her immobility was a byword in the family - especially when her ire was aroused. "I caught your press conference. Quite the headline."

Jed knew exactly what she was getting at; his shoulders sagged a bit. "I guess this is as good a time as any to hash it out." He put down his pen. "I just told CJ about our deal. And I told Leo not long before. But the guys still don’t know."

Abbey shook her head. "Hence the State of the Union muddle. I figured that out for myself. Haven’t they at least _wondered_ about your obvious reluctance before to even raise the subject of re-election?"

His eyes closed, briefly. "Okay, fine! I’ll say it. I was deliberately putting off telling them. I did not want to be the one to crush their enthusiasm, to stand there and watch their faith in me crumble. I kept hoping against hope that you’d eventually change your mind about all this and let me off the hook."

"Uh-huh." She didn’t have to say more than that. No one likes to be cast in the role of the inflexible hard-liner.

He glanced at the couches straight ahead of his desk, where a few very personal discussions with his senior staff had recently taken place. "And then we told Toby about me. His reaction…" Jed exhaled, obviously remembering in vivid color. "Well, he pretty much killed any optimism I’d had left. Right then I realized that not running was the only realistic option remaining."

"Then thank God for Toby’s common sense, if that’s what it takes to hold you to a bargain." But even as she struck for the point, Abbey figured that the last straw had not been any amount of sage political advice - it had been grief. The loss of his longest friendship ever, crushing the final spark of fighting spirit in his breast.

Or so they’d both thought.

"Okay, I want to know. Why did you choose to defy that common sense, as well as everything you and I had agreed on?"

The challenge had been flung. Jed sat up straighter in that leather throne, prepared to launch his defense against a more formidable opponent than anything the grand jury could hope to produce.

"Because I could not bring myself to just crawl away in surrender. The people deserve better than that of their leader, and rightly so. Now that this thing has come out, not running again would look like an admission that you _and_ I were completely at fault - and therefore guilty of everything that we’re going to be accused of. Well, I don’t think we _are_ guilty, and I stand by that conviction. If I at least try to stay in the fight, then it’ll be the entire nation that decides whether I did anything all that wrong. It’s the _people_ who are supposed to choose their leaders, all those everyday citizens out there; not the newspapers, the polls and the politicians. This has grown beyond a deal between you and me. I will _not_ set such a bad example for the Oval Office."

His tone never faltered. He wasn’t asking his wife’s permission here, or even her opinion; he was declaring his firm intent.

She could see his point. If only it weren’t for her terror over his health, she’d agree with him wholeheartedly.

"Well, you went right on national TV and said you were running, so there’s little point in my trying to hold you to that deal any longer."

Jed must’ve picked up on the unhappiness and hurt in her voice. He looked down, obviously guilt-ridden about not even consulting her, never mind breaking his word. "Abbey, I -"

She overrode him, not wanting to hear excuses and apologies. "I know you were planning not to run again, once we realized the MS had to come out. I know you decided to spare all of us as much of the public fallout as possible, deal or no deal. I know you had already told the staff, and planned the press conference accordingly. Jed, _what happened?_ "

Silence. Her taut posture shrieked that she had a right to know.

His slumped posture declared that he agreed with her.

"This is something I’ve told no one else," he said quietly, not raising his eyes.

_Her_ eyes narrowed.

"There are some things that a person has to keep private, even secret, from the rest of the world. They’re so intensely personal, no one else should be involved. You want to hide them in the deepest recesses of your heart, where they’re safe, where they aren’t compromised by different opinions, where they can be faced with absolute honesty. Talking about them cheapens the intimacy somehow - makes them… _earthly_." He stared unseeingly towards the far wall, not at his wife. "But I’m going to confide in you, Abbey. If you want an indication of how dear you are to me, here it is. For you, I’m prepared to bare my soul."

She started to seriously worry now; this was far too ominous a lead-in for anything not truly crucial.

"After the funeral…" _The_ funeral. She had not yet heard him actually speak the name of the woman they had honored that day. "I stood before the high altar of the Cathedral, and I blasted God for allowing her to die." He sounded like he was trying to mask a shame too deep for words. "I can still hear the words." Pause. " _Officium perfeci_. ‘I have ended my service to You.’"

Abbey sucked in a quick breath. She knew how deep her husband’s faith ran. For him to even _contemplate_ turning his back on everything he’d believed in so long…

Jed planted his elbows on the desk and rubbed both hands across his face. "I know it’s not fair to blame God, or anyone else. No more than it’s fair for me to hope that God will swoop down and make this whole mess go away. But at the time…" He lowered one arm and propped his head up with the other, looking older and more worn out than she could ever remember seeing him. "I came _that close_ to throwing away the discipline and foundation of a lifetime. The building-blocks of my entire being."

His wife reined in her sudden burning desire to beg him to continue. Either he would, or he wouldn’t.

"And then, just before the press conference… in this room…" His eyes closed. Many seconds ticked by before he could find the best choice of words. "Everything crystallized. _Everything_."

Abbey waited - but clearly he didn’t want to go on. For the first time, she got the idea that he’d had some kind of personal revelation, and a powerful one at that. Feeling rather humbled, she didn’t press.

And for the first time she really grasped how much this job had come to mean to him. Funny how that understanding hadn’t quite penetrated their mutual workloads and their joint concerns for his health. It wasn’t the history, the prestige, or the power. Somewhere in the past year or so he’d discovered that, like it or not, this was what he _had_ to do. This honor had grown beyond vocation. Beyond deal-making. Even beyond _them_. It had become a sacred trust.

Now that sounded a lot like something Mrs. Landingham would have said.

Abbey admitted to herself with no hesitation that she missed that extraordinary woman as well. Jed had been wounded far more than his closest colleagues ever guessed; even his wife couldn’t fully grasp the ramifications. He’d never discussed this particular friendship with anyone. That single death must have been one of the hardest moments he ever faced in his life.

Like all politicians’ spouses, Abbey had learned early and bitterly how such a career tends to part couples for extended periods of time. In particular ever since the diagnosis, she had deeply appreciated having another strong and utterly reliable woman around to help her keep an eye on her very stubborn husband’s questionable health. The two of them made an efficient team indeed: the onlywomen Jed would willingly give ground to in an argument. She knew that, despite his complaints, he cherished the memory of his secretary scolding him over his eating habits - and other things. The unused intercom on his desk. His tastes in sports. His addiction to rope lines. The list went on… but now would never be added to again.

Abbey took a moment to wonder if Mrs. Landingham ever suspected the _real_ reason behind those subtle requests to monitor him. It was entirely possible; she had always been extremely perceptive, and she’d known Jed longer than Abbey herself. She would be the one to encourage him to live to the very last gasp and make the best contribution he possibly could, health and public issues be damned.

The First Lady tipped her head to one side, and examined the President’s downcast features with a calculating eye. He was a natural leader: charismatic, dedicated, sincere, caring… He would’ve made a good priest. Had they never met, how high might he have risen in the Catholic Church? He was a great father, his periodic conflicts with Eleanor notwithstanding, and a doting grandfather. He never let ambition cloud either his judgment or his devotion to his family. His decision to run again had nothing to do with ego, proving himself right, or establishing his public and historical image, and all to do with the human desire to accomplish one’s life work for his country. He was a beautiful human being with an extraordinary opportunity to do good… and a terrible burden to bear throughout. He might not have borne it as well as he should have in the past - but, Abbey admitted in all honestly, she herself had not criticized his methodology until now. And she had no doubt that he’d bear it better in the future.

Assuming there was a future for _any_ of them.

The silence was lengthening unbearably. She could feel the strain across her shoulders, and see it in his expression. Time for something totally new - and totally unexpected.

"You and CJ must’ve had a lot to talk about." Deceptively level.

Now Jed looked up; then he nodded. "Yeah, I owed her a couple of apologies. First, for not having the courage to tell her to her face, and then for ignoring her efforts to ease things at the conference. Both have been hanging over our heads way too long."

"You can say that again."

"Well, at least that’s _one_ thing I’ve been able to clear up," he muttered morosely before returning to the papers spread out before him, satisfied that the problem of his Press Secretary’s feelings had been adequately addressed.

"So it would seem. She did leave with a spring in her step." Abbey shifted feet, reveling in her sudden sense of power at the volley she was about to launch. She struggled to keep her voice casual. "Just be glad that no one else walked in on you two."

This time you could have heard the dust fall.

He didn’t move. She was watching closely for the first hint of realization, but couldn’t quite tell for sure just when it hit. Neither of them even twitched, as the seconds ticked inexorably past…

Inch by inch, silently, Jed lifted his head. Inch by inch, torturously, he rotated his head to the right. His face blared forth a wild kaleidoscope of sheer horror… and genuine anger.

When he finally found words, they came out in a hoarse gasp. "Tell me I didn’t hear what I _think_ I just heard."

Abbey said nothing. Not denying it.

His eyes were wide, utterly shocked, and blazing. "I want to make sure I’ve got this right. Do you honestly think that of me?"

She raised both open hands, playing her role to the max. "What? I walk in here and see someone else in my husband’s arms - what do you _expect_ me to think?"

Now Jed pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. His glare never left her, aflame with fury and agony together.

"Well, this is a month for the record books. After eight years of hiding from the public, _and_ from myself, I finally decide it’s high time that I be absolutely honest and do my level best to make things right - and what’s the end result?" He circled the desk and came slowly forward, step by measured step. His voice rose with each sentence. "I have single-handedly crippled this office in the eyes of the people, and embarrassed this nation in the eyes of the world. I have shattered the personal trust that made my closest friends and colleagues want to devote their lives to working for me. I’ve probably ruined my good name by now; in fact, I may have ruined my _family_ name to boot! So why don’t we just throw my marriage on the same rubbish heap, huh?" He was almost bellowing now. "‘Cause I gotta say, Abbey, that will finish me for sure."

By this point Jed had advanced to within four feet of his wife. He stopped just before she would have retreated in actual fear at such unbridled, unanticipated rage.

The carpet Seal lay directly between them, like a physical barrier in itself.

His voice dropped a bit, but that only made each word more dangerous. "I’ve always felt I could deal with almost any tragedy, no matter _how_ painful - just so long as you and I stuck it out together." He turned to stare at his desk, considering all the power it radiated. "Right after the conference I started my plans for making this up to you. I figured right off that I’d be doing so for the rest of our lives, but it would be worth it. _Our_ lives; note that."

He swung back to her, almost shaking with anguish. "But now, if my breaking this deal means that you also expect me to consider breaking my vow of love for you, or of _faithfulness_ , then I’ve gone and destroyed the single most precious thing I’ve ever known - more important than this job, this country, or my own existence."

And with that, all energy left him. He pulled away, moved to the front of his desk, braced both hands on its polished surface, and just stood there. His back presented in total rejection, his head bowed. He was breathing heavily - not like someone in exhaustion, but like someone in terrible thoracic pain.

Abbey didn’t move, her mind whirling.

Jed’s next words barely rose above the audible level. "I guess I might as well get one of the Service agents’ guns and shoot myself right here. We’ve never had a President commit suicide before, but this seems like a perfect time to set that precedent."

He sounded so quietly sincere that it stunned her. Normally, suicide would be as unfathomable to him as murder. In these supercharged moments of fire and of stillness, she detected something she’d _never_ seen in her husband before now - _despair_.

Abbey admitted to herself that for once she had really wanted to hurt him. After his complete dismissal of their whole re-election bargain, she’d felt such a desire to lash out at him, hard. Infidelity for either of them was simply unthinkable… but this _pretense_ of suspicion had provided a marvelous weapon for a bit of personal revenge. However, she had succeeded beyond all her expectations… and beyond her own endurance.

So, at last, she broke the terrible spell and told him the truth.

"Of course I _thought_ about it. I’m human, I’m a woman, and I’m a wife! Did I seriously _consider_ it?" She allowed one brief pause as emphasis. "Not for one moment."

His head lifted a notch. She seized that encouraging sign and put every bit of sincerity she’d ever felt into her voice. "I know and trust you better than that, Jed. I also know and trust that CJ wouldn’t do that to either of us."

Silence settled again, like the dust of battle. Abbey was certain that no previous fight between them have been anything like as fierce. She prayed fervently that any future argument would fall far short as well.

Jed didn’t turn around yet, but something about the set of his shoulders hinted at the birth of a new hope.

"Whatever you may think my word is worth after this… Abbey, I would _never_ betray you. Even if I were capable of such a crime, I wouldn’t with a friend to both of us - and I certainly wouldn’t with someone that you and I both consider family!"

Now he drew himself together, and rotated. Again, they stood over six feet apart.

"How you could even…" Bewilderment rang in his tone.

"I didn’t," Abbey declared firmly. She glanced aside, and then heaved a huge breath. "I was… looking for a bit of retribution."

Her husband considered this, his eyes turning inward. "Well, I’d be the first to admit that you were entitled to some." The relief in his voice was clear this time. He paused, running a hand through his now-disheveled hair, then glanced up again. "Just in case you’re interested, CJ did her utmost to convince me to let her take the fall for the rest of the senior staff, her President… _and_ her First Lady."

Abbey winced. The offer might not come as too much of a surprise, but after that unfair accusation her guilt kicked in full-strength.

"I’m assuming you talked her out of it, since when she left here she didn’t look to me like someone headed for the gallows."

"Yeah, but it wasn’t easy." Jed leaned back wearily against his desk, and sighed. "God, I’m tired. I can’t handle fights with _both_ of you in the same day."

His wife grinned. It felt wonderful to joke again. "Fine. I’ll make sure CJ and I coordinate our disputes with you in the future."

"You’re all heart." He permitted himself a low chuckle. "You realize, of course, that no woman would dare anything of the sort with me and risk the wrath of Abigail Bartlet."

Abbey tried to appear modest. "I can’t say that I’m sorry to hear that." Now, at long last, she took a step closer. And did not fold her arms. No more defensiveness needed. "Likewise, no man would approach _me_ , for fear of the wrath of the President of the United States."

He frowned for a moment, then gave up pretending. "You’re right; that sounds better than the wrath of _Jed_ Bartlet… since everyone around here knows that, between the two of us, yours is by far the more dangerous." And he was quite serious.

She smirked. "Oh, I don’t know. If more people were treated to the demonstration I just had, they might think twice about it. And remember how, after the Fed Chair nonsense, you offered to resign on the spot rather than risk any damage to us? How could another woman possibly be seen as a threat?" She took another step, and another. Walking straight across that embroidered Seal on the floor, in a symbolic gesture of surmounting the last obstacle between them.

He seemed content to wait for her, now assured that, after all the distance and tension of the past months, this time she did intend to come to him. Finally, the hint of a smile appeared. "What I remember best is when you told me about Babish’s not-so-discrete line of questioning the other week. I couldn’t believe the man walked away with all his teeth."

She tossed her hair nonchalantly. "It wouldn’t help our case if word got out that the President’s lawyer had been smacked into next week by his clients, now, would it?"

"I’d pay big money to see _that_ headline."

Abbey reached out with both hands. Jed did as well. Their fingers touched, and joined, and meshed together. As it always should be, and hadn’t been in far too long.

She looked down, rather abashed. "I apologize for that cheap shot earlier."

He shrugged. "I deserved it."

"No, you didn’t. There’s nothing the slightest bit selfish about your decision to run, Jed. I know that now." She paused, her mouth twitching against a fresh grin. "But I will say that, if so fleeting and impossible a suspicion can explode into such jealousy on my part, than there’d better not be any question in my mind about just how much I’m willing to still put up with you. Through thick or thin, and everything in between."

His bright blue eyes virtually glowed with affection. "If you can’t yet bring yourself to actually say ‘love,’ Abbey, I don’t mind. I’ll say it for you. As often as I have to, until you get used to it all over again."

He lifted both of her hands in both of his, and held her fingers to his lips. Her smile increased, as that last space between them dissolved away. The healing process had been completed, burying the hatchet for good.

*****


End file.
